


we gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean

by myillusionsgone



Series: said, "i'm fine," but it wasn't true [4]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Post Fantasia Arc, complicated father-son dynamics, mentions of more or less canonical character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26211940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myillusionsgone/pseuds/myillusionsgone
Summary: Conversations with the dead and with the absent. — Laxus
Relationships: Laxus Dreyar & Evergreen, Laxus Dreyar & Ivan Dreyar
Series: said, "i'm fine," but it wasn't true [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623238
Kudos: 11





	we gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean

The anniversary of his mother’s death always gave him pause. It did not matter where he was or what he was doing; he always remembered and he always had to take a moment to remember his feet. Most he remembered of her were fragments — the smell of lemons and orange flowers, a laugh, a cool hand against his burning forehead. Memories of being loved. He had been small and sick and a million other things when she had died, and he was never sure if what he recalled of her was the truth or an image he had conjured often enough for it to feel like the truth.

There were fresh flowers on the grave, like each year. He could smell his grandmother almost as well as if she was present so she could not have left long ago — maybe he would visit for a change, just to see how she was doing. The old —  _ lady _ had brought some of the blue flowers in a funny looking vase and had planted fresh heather on the grave in a wiggly line that was probably to imitate a lightning bolt. There were the usual yellow flowers, twined together and trying to match his mother’s smile in brightness, and beside them, there was the open spot for the handful of lilies of the valley that Laxus had been bringing his mother since he had been old enough to venture into the forest and pick them . . . for her birthday or mother’s day or  _ just because _ . She had enjoyed them in life and he guessed she would still like them now. Hoped it, at least.

Then, he sat down in front of the grave and sighed, wishing he had brought candles or anything else, really. “I can’t go home,” he told his mother.  _ Father can’t come home, either, _ he added silently, but that was another story and it was not his place to tell. “You can’t hold it against us,” he went on, feeling like a child that was desperately trying to justify a broken vase and not like an adult who was paying for his wrongdoings. Maybe because he had never not been a child in front of his mother; her death had made sure of that. “I screwed up, ma,” he whispered.

Each time he visited, there were stories he wanted to tell, advice he wanted to ask for. He wished there was someone he could trust with the questions he had no answer for — he wished there was someone he could ask what he should do about the leaves Evergreen had been throwing up the last time he had seen her, the leaves she had not wanted to talk about, not even to Freed and Bixlow.

_ Ever might be dying _ , he wanted to tell her.  _ Ever might be dying and I don’t know how to stop it _ .

And somehow, this terrified him more than anything else. It had been Scarlet who had snapped at him months ago, asking him what he had ever done to  **earn** his team’s loyalty, and this was a question that had been stuck in the back of his head since.  _ He _ knew that he was no less loyal to them than they were to him, but for a moment, he had seen how it looked from the outside. That did not mean he had stopped and thought about what the Knight had said until after the failed coup. He was not even  _ angry _ at Scarlet. Not anymore, at least. He could not blame her for being right, for saying something he had not wanted to hear, still wished he had never heard. 

(Maybe, there were apologies he had to make, one day.)

He had not asked Evergreen who the leaves were for. He had not even teased her for throwing up leaves instead of flowers like most people. He had wrapped his coat around her, had buried the leaves and had promised her he would not tell  _ any living soul _ about this, had linked his pinky with hers and had wiped the mess off her chin. And he had wished he could just look into her heart to know who it was she was carrying a torch for.

Wondering what his mother would suggest if she could, he closed his eyes. To a stranger it would sound so strange that he hoped for his mother’s counsel when she had not been a healer, not like his grandmother  _ was _ , but — the imperviousness came from his grandmother’s side of the family.

“Ah. I won’t disturb.”

A familiar voice, despite the odd absence of its usual  _ dramatics _ , and Laxus steeled himself before he turned towards the man, towards his father. Apparently, they were alike enough to flaunt the rules of their banishment today, not that anyone with a beating heart could fault either of them for it. Still, Laxus could not bring himself to say  _ father _ , much less  _ dad _ so he grabbed the older man’s shoulder and shoved him towards the grave. He was not like his father, he could not spin pretty, silver words and sway others, he was a man of actions. A man who had been a boy, spending much of his childhood wishing his father had stayed, missing him before cursing his name had become easier. “Explain yourself,” he  _ ordered _ , but there was an unwelcome quiver in his voice. “You aren’t supposed to be here, Ivan.”

Like him, his father was banished. Laxus might not know the details, but he was almost certain that the same conditions applied to both of them — his grandfather would not turn them over to the council, as long as they steered clear of Magnolia. At the time, it had sounded like a small price to pay, but  _ Magnolia was his home _ and he was in  **exile** .

“And mother is not supposed to get knocked out by a bunch of  _ ruffians _ , but that is what happened yesterday,” the raven scowled as he shook off Laxus’ hand, but there was no sharpness left in the older man. “I brought her home, made sure she rested.  _ Then _ I elected to go to  **my wife’s grave** .”

The last time Laxus had seen his grandmother had been when she had told him that he could go to see his grandfather and receive his punishment. She had looked stoic, unshakeable and  _ calm _ then, like one of the statues Ever was so fond of, but — she was not getting any younger. And his father’s  _ worry _ was almost tangible, even if he would never speak of it. Clenching his jaw, Laxus nodded. “Do you have a lead?” he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the other, waiting for the tiniest clue. He was not as close to his grandmother as he  _ should _ , but — his father  **admired** his mother. He would know and he would do something about it. 

Now, his father rolled his eyes and  _ snorted _ indignantly. “Mother is already back on her feet and has been nagging me about a million things, including that she does not want me to get involved  _ in any capacity _ ,” he grumbled as he procured a bouquet of paper flowers from his pocket. “But she would appreciate a visit from you, I’m certain.”

Looking at his mother’s grave, Laxus swallowed. It was quiet, it could not give him the answers he was searching, as much as he wished for it to be different. LIfting his gaze, he closed his eyes. “I understand,” he muttered. “Does —  _ did _ Porlyusica ever do research about the flower curse?”

Ivan flinched and within the blink of an eye, he was in front of him, dark eyes sharp and analytical. “It shouldn’t be  _ possible _ ,” he muttered as he sniffed the air surrounding Laxus, ostensibly looking for floral scents. “It shouldn’t be able to afflict you.”

It was what he had said almost twenty years before —  _ grandma’s blood protects you from the Flower Curse _ . He had never elaborated on the details, on what he meant by this frankly enigmatic statement and he would hardly do this now, but for a brief moment, Laxus allowed himself to have this: a father who cared, a father who  _ worried _ . However, it never took long for him to remember that in more ways than it should be possible, he was an investment before he was a son.

“Not for me,” Laxus muttered, not quite willing to push his father away just yet. “A friend.”

Ivan took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “I am . . . glad that it’s not you,” he said hesitantly. “Now go ask your grandma, she can fix these things.”

Adjusting the flowers he had left on the grave again, Laxus turned to leave. His father’s faith in his mother was without a match and for now, it was almost easy to share this inherent belief that there was little the healer could not  _ make okay again _ . Still, there was something else he could say, something he could do for his father. “Grandfather should be at some guildmaster meeting,” he said quietly. “Shouldn’t be back for a week, in case you want more time with mum.”

If his exile had taught him one thing, it was that it was a special kind of hell to be separated from the people one loved . . . and his father had been forbidden from coming to Magnolia for a very long time now.

**Author's Note:**

> I spent quite some time picking flower meanings for this one . . . and then I had to accept that Laxus probably doesn't know his flowers, so I had to delete it.


End file.
